


Wake Up Lonely

by skaibrave



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaibrave/pseuds/skaibrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after the terrors of Mount Weather, Clarke is still waking up from nightmares. What she didn't realize is that Bellamy has them too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So first off, I just wanted to say thank you for reading this! This is my first published fanfiction, so I'm a little nervous and would love all and any feedback, even though it's just a one shot. While this is my first fic for Bellarke, I'm hoping it won't be my last because I love these idiots. Also I'm terrible at titles, so the title comes from the first line of the song "Belong" by the Cary Brothers which I thought really fit. Also feel free to follow me on my tumblr account: lizastaylor. Hope you guys like it!

     She wakes up gasping for air. She always does. Sitting straight up, Clarke’s fists are clenched dangerously tight. If not for the blankets in her grasp her fingernails could have drawn blood in her palms. A feat that was impressive, for how bitten raw to the flesh and jagged her nails were these days. A symptom of stress that she wouldn’t admit too. Her skin is damp with sweat and if she could see herself in the pitch black she would guess that her face was flushed, as if she’d just run a mile and then turned around to come back.

But as she gathered her composure, wiping the tears that escaped while she was unconscious, she suddenly realized the screaming hadn’t stopped. The shrieking of innocent people, the cries of the ones she loved, the sounds that haunted her every night when she tried to close her eyes; usually they stopped once she woke. Once she could calm herself down and convince herself it was just a dream, in hopes she could trick herself into thinking they weren’t real at some point. That they weren’t a memory imbedded in her mind. No, this time she could still hear the cries. The low groaning of pain, the tortured sounds of someone being hurt, the familiar gravelly tones of someone she knew all too well. Clarke’s heart clenched upon realizing that she could hear him in the tent next to her; and selfishly the thought crossed her mind that if she could hear Bellamy so easily; how many times had he heard her heart breaking in her sleep? 

She considers waiting for it to stop. Give him his privacy and his pride; it’s what she would want. Practice what you preach, right? Of course this practice, she knew, bothered him more then he would admit. More often then not these days she could find him glaring at her. For not attending council meetings, for feigning indifference to what was going on, for isolating herself from those she loved. She avoided the med bay to avoid her mother. She avoided meals to avoid having to pick somewhere or someone to eat with. She avoided fires during the nights where most of Camp Jaha had become accustom to sitting together during the evenings sharing stories about their day and anecdotes. She avoided everyone and their whispers of “heartless” and “murderer”. She avoided Octavia and her harsh glares, and she did everything in her power to not catch Jasper’s gaze because it always broke her heart. 

And in turn Bellamy pushed harder. Told her things about council meetings that he knew took everything in her power to not comment on. Left food with her when she was by herself on watch, not leaving until she ate it all. Told her silly little things he used to roll his eyes at before; things he always admitted didn’t matter but she would bring up back when they were at the drop ship. Like who liked who, who had history with someone else, all the petty gossip that had kept her going through the day as if she were just a normal girl. She had always claimed it was important, because knowing who worked well together and who didn’t mattered when making a schedule to go by; back when they were leaders. Together. Now he did it because he thought she still cared. Which of course she did; but it wasn’t as if she had the right too.  

And of course, he had put his tent next to hers. 

“What? It’s a prime location.” He had grumbled at the time, when she had glared at him with her arms crossed before huffing; almost stomping into her own tent like the young girl she often forgot she was. She knew him well enough to know that on the outskirts of the grounds was not prime location to him. It wasn’t like she was out in the boonies; she didn't need a babysitter, but he had set up camp anyways only a few meters away. And as she sat in her bed and prayed his pain would stop, finally the tug on her heart became too much to bear.  

With a sigh she pulled on her boots, hoping that it was dark enough that should she go out, no one would see the baggy teeshirt that almost went down to her knees that she slept in, and made her way outside of her tent carefully. Maybe Octavia was close by. It was really the reason she hadn’t jumped out of bed to Bellamy’s rescue; because she knew that had his sister heard she would have been there to comfort him in a flash. And frankly, if there was someone she wanted to avoid running into for her own selfish, guilty reasons, it was Octavia. So for a moment she paused, waiting to see if the warrior would turn up to push her out of the way and take over. It was funny, how out of all of the things Clarke had faced in her life, and she was scared of a girl who used to be her friend. Scared to come face to face with a girl she loved like a sister she’d never had. A girl who had told her they were done for the horrible things she’d accomplished. When Octavia didn’t show up though, Clarke finally moved from the entrance of her tent, to Bellamy’s doorway.  

“Bellamy.” Her voice was soft and gravelly, scratched with sleep and a little bit of nerves. She called his name again, but she could still hear his distress and so she finally unzipped the door to his tent. Letting her eyes adjust to the dark, she shuffled forward and nudged the side of his cot with the tip of her boot. The thin bedding that substituted as a mattress down here on the ground shifted slightly and he whimpered, a contraction in her chest causing an ache she didn’t want to acknowledge.   

Eyes softening, her heart unable to take the sound of his nightmares anymore and she made her way closer, kneeling beside his bed and trying not to think about how little clothing he was wearing. She was stepping out of the comfort zone that she had built so securely the past few months. The walls that she had surrounded herself with, the rules that she had given herself. No touching. No intimacy. People she cared about often got hurt. She was a cursed girl who had sold her soul to win a war. The people she loved deserved so much better then her. He deserved so much better then her.  

It had been ages since she had let herself get this close. Letting her eyes linger on his face, even in the darkness she could see the contrast of dark freckles against tan skin. She could see every crease of worry on his brow. See the tense muscles on his shoulders and arms as he tried to fight whatever demons that were haunting him. Clarke carefully reached for his wrists, gently holding his arms down to stop the thrashing with one hand because she knew if she startled him he could retaliate. People did things they couldn’t control when they weren’t aware, and while she had taken a punch or five in her day, she knew that a bruise caused by him would haunt Bellamy more then it would her. Her other hand gently pushed his messy curls from his face, fingers tracing the crevice of his brow as she shushed him tenderly.  

“Bellamy, wake up… it’s just a dream. You’re having a nightmare.” Clarke cooed, her thumb gently skimming down his cheek, her natural instinct for taking care of people kicking in despite her efforts to lock that part of her up somewhere deep inside. “It’s just a dream, Bellamy. You’re safe, just open your eyes and it will be over.”  

Maybe it was naive to not think about what would happen after she woke him. For some reason she wasn’t prepared for the gasp of air he took as his dark eyes opened, the chocolate brown gaze she had become so accustomed to almost black in the dim lighting. Maybe it was because she avoided it so much recently, her blue eyes tended to never meet anyone’s if she could help it. They shifted in general to somewhere past the person she was talking too, but now she was so close she could see every eyelash, and he could see her. She hated that about him sometimes. That he could see right through her. 

“Clarke.” His voice was deeper than usual, how that was possible she had no idea, but just her name from his lips rumbled through her like thunder. 

“Hey…” Clarke croaked in return, thankful that it was so dark, hopefully he couldn’t see the flush that creeped onto her cheeks so rapidly. She inwardly cursed her own body for betraying her stoney facade. “I could hear you from my tent. I was just…” Making sure you were okay. The girl swallowed because it was something she had tried not to do for so long. To care. And yet here she was, not breaking his gaze, her fingers still tangled in his hair and her hands still holding his wrists carefully. She had tried to pretend she didn’t care anymore for so long, and yet there she was kneeling by his beside as if worshipping the one person that had yet to give up on her.  

“Did I wake you?” Was the only response he gave, letting her slip-up slide and instead bordering on his usual over-protectiveness. She could hear the concern in his tone, which only confirmed her previous thoughts about how if she could hear him, he could hear her. How often had he heard her scream herself awake? Had he ever stood outside her door and debated what she had done tonight? As he reached out touching the tips of her golden hair with his fingers, she assumed it was at least more then once; not because she wanted it to be true (which she did), but because a sleepy smile was quirking at the corner of his mouth. He looked like he was debating whether or not he was still dreaming.  

Her heart did a little flip, as if remembering that it was still alive and beating. She shook her head without speaking, because she didn’t exactly know what to say. He hadn’t woken her, which would make him worry when he was the one who was being comforted. Without thinking she pushed the hair out of his face once more since he had shifted, his eyes closed again peacefully, this time his face wasn’t scrunched in agony. He needed a haircut desperately. A few months ago, before they were separated, before Mount Weather and the grounders, she would have told him it bluntly in passing. Get a haircut, you look like a bum. Now though, she tended to pretend it was none of her business. It was almost laughable that she once had been brazen enough to make it her business.  

At this realization she finally let go, pulling her hands away from him, swallowing hard as she looked away. Now sweaty palms rubbed at the thin material that covered the top of her thighs, before glancing back at Bellamy, who was now rolling forward to reach for her. Maybe it was the fact that this was the first time she had been this close since the day they came back from the mountain. Maybe she had given him a glimmer of hope, because being herself in the darkness alone with him was so much easier then in the daylight surrounded by the rest of her people. Either way when she went to get up and leave, he reached for her, his callused palm taking her arm and pulling her back towards him, forcing their eyes to meet once more.  

“I should go.” Clarke pleaded quickly, before he could say anything, and Bellamy frowned. The harsh lines of his face returning with a glare. It was so obvious that he was a Blake; the look of disappointment matching Octavia’s and she could feel her stomach roll with guilt.  

“Clarke.” Her name rumbled again, his tone stern as if he were ordering one of the kids to stop fucking around. Her eyes softened, begging for him to drop this, but he didn’t let go, his thumb simply caressing the skin of her bicep gently, tugging her back towards him.  

“Bellamy.” She responded, taking in a shaky breathe, his name a crystal clear whisper between them. “I should let you get back to sleep.” 

     “So we can both get back to our nightmares?” His words are harsh, a shiver drifting down her spine. A huff of breathe escapes Clarke and her lower lip trembles just slightly. He was calling her out, so obvious that he had heard her, night after night, waking up with tears in her eyes. Usually she just ends up lying in silence after that, too haunted to close her eyes again to go back to the pictures in her head. Dreams of Mount Weather’s dining hall; of kissing Lexa and watching her walk away; of pulling the trigger and watching an old man bleed out of his chest; of TonDC in flames. She wonders what he dreams of. Whether his nights are filled with reapers, or gun shots, or cages that held him captive; and suddenly she realizes that isolating herself has left him alone too. And no, she doesn’t believe he has fallen as low as her. He did the things he had to do because of decisions she made, people she wrongly trusted, mistakes on her part, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering in his own stoic way. They had said “together” and she hadn’t followed through. She stayed still for a moment, her gaze trying to read his as he glared at her, as if telepathically giving her shit for abandoning him. Telling her off for showing she cared and then trying to shut him out again. 

And without another word Clarke stood up and toed her boots off at the heels, kicking them to the side before motioning for him to move over, hoping to god he was wearing something under the blanket covering him. She couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when he pulled back the covers to reveal shorts and it must have been obvious because she could almost feel the smug smirk radiating off of him. A roll of her eyes and she flopped down on her back beside him, careful not to touch him or invade any of his space because if Clarke was honest, which was rare these days, she didn’t know if she could handle it.  

They lie together like that for a while. Both on their backs, a few inches apart. Like bodies in coffins, staring at the ceiling, their breathing in perfect simpatico. It’s nice, actually. His bed is warm, and it’s calming to have something to focus on, to ground her. To know he was there, even if he was mad at her, which she knew he was. But then again, Bellamy rarely wasn’t. She knows he’s not asleep though. The many days she had spent sleeping in the drop ship with him and 98 others has let her know that he snores. Not unbearably so, but his breathing deepens when he’s exhausted, and his chest rattles slowly and even then it never bothered her. Like falling asleep to rain. So when when he shifts to his side, his body facing towards her she knows he’s awake and she squints out of her peripheral to see him watching her. Clarke almost smirks, the freckled corner of her mouth tightening. He’s always had a staring problem. 

Finally she just gives in, turning her head and looking him in the eye. Lying next to him with ridiculous bedhead, bags under her eyes because every night was the same restless night, and all her walls broken down because there was no point in putting them up to hide from him. He could see right through her. An undeniable fact. There wasn’t a person in the world who knew what she had been through better. Who had seen her at her worst more. Who had forgiven her faults unquestioned. And so she took him in in return. Pale blue eyes scanned his dark ones, taking in his own exhaustion, the stubble that had grown on his face because he didn’t bother shaving every day, the scars on his skin that she was sure matched hers. She gave it a moment, soaking Bellamy in because it was a luxury that she hadn’t given herself for months now, before she let her lips twitch into something of a smile. It wasn’t a radiant grin, or a smug smirk, but it was small, and knowing, and vulnerable, and she watched his face unwaveringly. The way his eyes softened at the sight, lingering on her lips as if he stopped it might fade.  

It was another moment before she spoke, her voice a low hum and she shook her head ever-so-slightly, but enough to make him glance back at her eyes. 

“I’m exhausted.” She admitted, vulnerable and honest. She wasn’t talking about that very moment; though it was included. No, she meant in general. Her very being. She was tired all the time. Her heart was heavy and therefore so was the rest of her. It was draining carrying around the weight she did; the walls she had built were thick and tiresome, and the nightmares at night did nothing to help. She watched Bellamy’s lips tighten for a moment, as if carefully debating whether he was going to lecture her or not. It was funny, how she knew that if she were anyone else there would be an entire inspirational monologue waiting for her, and yet he knew better then to give her that. Instead he nods, fatigue clear on his own face, complete understanding. 

“I know.” He drawls, as if that’s all there is to be said. Because it was. He didn’t need to give her a pep talk, or bullshit about how it was going to get better. He knew it wasn’t the time either for him to push her into talking. It was a miracle she was there in the first place.  

It doesn’t stop what happens next though, she sees it coming because she’s yet to look away. But still Clarke’s heart almost stops the moment he reaches out, wrapping an arm around her carefully before curling her into his embrace, her back pressed to his chest. She stops breathing, eyes closed, the heat of his body radiating against hers as she feels his fingertips press gently against the teeshirt she’s wearing and into the softness of her stomach. She’s ridged for a moment, scared that if she opens her eyes something will happen. Like she might wake up from the only good dream she’s had in months. Bellamy pushes her hair to the side so that it’s not in his face. His breathe traces her shoulder and she lets out her own terrified exhale, her eyes still squeezed shut and she can feel him loosen his grip as he senses her discomfort, ready to let her go. It’s then that she reaches for him, her hand over his, clamping it in place because suddenly Bellamy’s the only thing holding her together. He gives a grunt, the Bellamy version of acknowledgement and she feels him nod against her shoulder blade, his nose pressing into her gently. 

“Go to sleep, Clarke. I’ll wake you if you dream.” It’s an order if anything, his tone serious but reassuring and she gives his hand a squeeze. She’s not used to sharing a bed. Hell, she’s not used to even being touched these days, but as she focuses on Bellamy’s breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against her back, and the sound of his snores as they slowly begin to fill the tent, Clarke feels safe for the first time as she drifts into slumber.


End file.
